Bridget Jones: Valentine's with Self and Beyond
by lovablejuicer
Summary: Bridget returns still plagued by the problems of being a 33 year old spinster but joined by a whole host of new ones to come including tomato sauce down nice top! not vg Disclaimer: Nothing familiar is mine. PLEASE read and REVIEW.
1. Chapter 1

**Monday 14th February. **

_9 st 3 (sympathy chocolates), alcohol units 14, cigarettes 3 (V.G), pieces of nicorette gum 43, calories 2.500 (too depressed to eat anything apart from chocolates)_

**8:15 pm.** Bloody Valentine's Day. And on a Monday. Typical. Not one card. Well, did get one but it was meant for Laura upstairs. Postman probably did it on purpose. Obviously not upset though. Will not be sucked in to this commercial trap. Am happy single.

**9 pm. **Hmm, wonder what Mark Darcy is doing tonight. Maybe could ring and see if he picks up. If he does, shows he is not having good time and if those circumstances do occur, will not brag or show off that am having fantastic time without him. No, instead will lend sympathetic ear to all his problems. But then again, he might pick up because he is top lawyer and top lawyers call each other all the time. God, that would be embarrassing. No, will wait for him to call. If remember rightly, it was me who phoned last time.

**10:15 pm**. Stupid telephone. No call from Mr Darcy. Or any messages on phone (mobile). Huh. Not that care. Will have Valentine meal alone. Microwaved pizza and chips. V.calorific but have no choice. Do not want to ruin first 'romantic' meal with self.

**10:20 pm. **Why doesn't microwave have any instructions? Am working women; how am I meant to remember instructions 'printed on leaflet?' Probably went in bin. I mean, how am I to know what category microwave I have? Back of pizza box says: 'Categories C-A: 3 mins Categories G-D: 3 mins 30.' Hmm, have had microwave for about 2 years and so that would make it a C. No, perhaps microwave was a C to begin with and has sort of 'gotten older.' Perhaps microwave is an E. Oh, sod it. I'll put the thing in for 5 mins. Ooh goody! Telephone!

**10:32 pm**

Was my mother.

'Oh, hello darling! Listen, Elaine has just been on the phone to Mark and he sounds terribly lonely. Apparently he has been working so hard, he hasn't had time for a girl friend. He's single! Did you hear that Bridget? Mark Darcy is-.'

'Yes I heard, but it is probably _his_ choice. Why is Elaine at your house anyway?'

'Durrr! We're 'double dating!' Isn't that fun?' she cried excitedly. 'I mean, I've spent the last 40 Valentine's day with Daddy and well, there's not much we haven't done. We're not that old, Bridget. In fact, I was just watching 'Ground Force' the other day when most unexpectantly, your father, grabbed me by surprise and-.'

'No!' I shouted, maybe a bit too loudly.

'Bridget! I'm not deaf!'

'Sorry, it's just well er, the other team scored a goal and well, it's 3 down and well, oh shit!' Why was I acting like this? I wasn't watching footie!

'Bridget! Don't swear. Honestly, you sound like a commoner. Mark won't want someone who speaks like that. And what a disgrace! Watching football on Valentine's day. You should be out dancing with Mark Darcy. Ooh, Daddy wants to dance! Cheerio, darling!'

**10:45 pm**. Managed to save remains of burning pizza. One cannot expect to be top chef-ess on very first attempt. Still, it's edible. Yummy!

Oh, doorbell.

**11 pm**. Was Mark Darcy! 'I was, um, in the neighbourhood and was wondering how you were- bloody fuck! What is that?' he said, pointing to my 'romantic meal.'

'I'm having dinner with myself actually,' I replied in smug, dignified tones. And before you ask, it is meant be that colour.'

'Oh, well, I won't keep you, then. Terribly sorry. Should never have come. I mean over, not come as in…well I'll go now. Bye.' He opened the door and walked outside. 'Oh and er, Bridget?'

'Yes?' I replied hopefully. Ooh, perhaps Mark Darcy will admit he was wrong and propose! Or something like that. Was smiling like loon.

'You've spilt tomato sauce down your top.'

'Oh er, thank you.' I said, flushing violently and looking at big splodge on left tit.'Silly me!'

'Well, I better be off. Big meeting tomorrow.' Watched as Mark Darcy practically ran downstairs and out of sight. It had been three months since we split up and well, we'd seen each other every week. Needed the girls' advice on this one.

**11:15 pm. **Phoned Shaz.

'Hello?' Was pause.

'Hi, Shaz, it's me Bridge. Listen, I wanted to ask you about-.'

Shaz went on: 'Sorry I'm not here at the mo, leave a message after the beep and if you of the female variety, I will get back to you soon. If you are of the male variety like a certain bastard called Simon, I won't.'

Grr! Bloody answer machine!

**11:20 pm** Rang Jude.

'Jude, it's me, Bridget.' Waited to see if answer phone.

'Have you got wine? I love yoooooooooou!'

'Er, Jude? Are you there? I'm having a crisis and I was wondering…' Phone went dead. Saw had pulled phone out of wall. Contemplated ringing back but decided against it. Jude was married now. She was never going to be single on Valentine's. Shazzer was practically married to Simon. Tom had been going out with Amit for a year and a bit and they were spending Valentine's on a romantic break. And self? Self had to spend Valentine's day alone. Should be use to it by now but spent last year with Mark Darcy and year before with Daniel. Had got used to not being alone! Was too complicated to dwell on so went to bed. Alone. With a glass of wine.


	2. Huntercombe and Wall Shagging hurrah!

**Tuesday 15th February**

_9 st 5 (how can put on two pounds in a day?), alcohol units, 5, cigarettes, 6, calories, 3100._

**10:30 am**. 'So how was yesterday in lovers' ville, Bridget?' asked Richard Finch while lighting up out of a window.

'Fine.'

'Spend Valentine's day with ourself did we?'

'No! I mean out of choice…not because…anyway, Richard I'll have you know, I am a proud singleton who will not be warped into this commercialised trap which is Valentine's day. Plus, next time you enquire to why I haven't a-.'

'Yes, course you are darling. Anyway, new tax year starts soon so I want you to do a piece on the rising housing market. I'm thinking mansions, luxury penthouse suites, west-end Pied de Terres etc. That will a long way away from your hovel so I've booked a car in 10 minutes. Remember, I want big, big, big. No one's interested in shacks. Got that?'

'Yes,' I reply gloomily, making a face.

'Oh and Bridget? The tax year begins in April, not January.'

'Of course I knew that! I say, haughtily though flushing violently. Does it?

**6 pm. Back at flat. **

Perhaps could ring Mark Darcy for legal advice. Yes and then could have meeting with him about legal stuff but actually would steer meeting towards our relationship! Genius!

**6:08 pm. **Except, what do you need a lawyer for?

**6:10 pm**. Don't really want to become criminal just to talk to Mark though…

**6:11 pm. ** But then again…

**6:13 pm.** No. Must be on best behaviour

**6:15 pm. ** Ooh! Answer phone flashing!

**8 pm.** Was Richard Finch. Humph.

'Bridget, Liz's got glandular bloody fever so I want you down at Huntercombe by lunchtime tomorrow. There are directions on your desk…what else…it's a black tie thing and oh yes, the book is called: 'My Struggle with Freedom' by 'Amelia King.' Google it. But don't worry, you won't have attempt to do an interview You're only there to make up the numbers.'

**8:05 pm.** Grr. Now have to go to work for no good reason to get sodding directions.

**8:06 pm.** And have to get dress out.

**8:10 pm. ** And was meant to be meeting Tom, Jude and Shazzer at 192 ten minutes ago!

**8:30 pm**. **192.**

'God, I feel like a sodding pensioner,' scoffed Shazzer. In a club before 9!'

'I feel like a deflated balloon with no one to blow me.' sighed Tom.

'Up,' corrected Jude. 'No one to blow you up.'

'What?' asked Tom miserably. 'Oh right, balloon.'

'Tom, what's wrong?' we asked leaning in closer.

'Amit. He's run off…and gone to…to be…oh I can't bear to think about it!' he cried. 'All I wanted was some Asian arse and a free haircut but the bullshitter has to run off to become a Buddhist.'

'Ha!' cried Shazzer. 'A Buddhist?'

'Yes, a fucking Buddhist Monk. He said he felt there was a void in his life, which not even I could fill.'

'Oh Tom,' I said, putting my arm around him. 'You don't need him. He's just an Asian arsehole who needs deporting.'

'Well, I suppose,' replied Tom lightening up. 'I don't need an elephant thingy God to fill my life. Bridge, let's get married. I mean, I'm a bloke and last time I looked, you were a girl and then we could adopt Russian orphans. Five girls, one boy.'

'Won't he feel a bit left out?'

'No, because he'll have his 'sisters' to 'play with.'

'Tom you are disgusting,' said Jude, reaching over for her drink.

'No, he's not!' slurred Shaz, stumping out her fag. 'Michael Jackson never had any sexual contact when he was a teen and look what happened to him. He became sodding Peter Pan. Tom's right.'

'Like always.' put in Tom

'Well I better be going.' I announced, downing my drink and trying to clamber over Tom to get out. 'I'm off to Huntercombe tomorrow. New book launch. Very swish. Not like those we had when I worked for…anyway, must be off! Top journalists need their sleep, you know.'

'Wow,' sighed Jude, 'Huntercombe in Hampshire or Edinburgh?'

'And don't forget Huntercombe in Newquay.' added Shazzer

'What?' I demanded. How many are there?'

'Shaz, there's no Huntercombe in Newquay! It's just a small fishing village in Cormwall.'

'Yes, there is! I've been there!'

'There isn't! There's one in Hampshire, Edinburgh, Paris, Leeds and New_port.' _retorted Jude, smugly

Ooh, I hope it's in Paris! Wouldn't that be nice? I'd be able to smoke without feeling-.

'So where is it then, Bridge?' asked Shaz, glaring at Jude.

'Well, I er…'

'It will either be in Hampshire or Edinburgh,' declared Jude. 'No one will want to drive all the way to Newport.'

'They might! growled Sharon.'

'What about Leeds,' asked Tom.

'Or Paris?' I put in hopefully

'No, the Leeds Huntercombe is only for weddings and expensive family gatherings,' said Jude as if reading off leaflet.

Hmm, maybe should ring office to see which Huntercombe is correct.

**Wednesday 16th February**

_8 st 13 (too busy to weigh self and besides, must have lost weight what with all this running about), alcohol units 20, cigarettes 25._

**4 pm**. **Huntercombe, Hampshire.**

Realised in middle of night that if right bloody Huntercombe was in Edinburgh, then would have to catch train at 7 in morning to have any hope of being there by lunch time. So got up at 6, flung contents of wardrobe into leather holdall and rushed over to office to find…Huntercombe was in Hampshire. Bloody Hampshire. Not Paris or Edinburgh. Hampshire. Which, it turns out, is only an hour away!

**5 pm**. Nice room though. Overlooking lake.

**5:15 pm**. Telephone.

Was Finchey.

'Bridget, turns out Amelia King is stuck in Switzerland having botox and won't be here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest so you've got the evening off.'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'Well, there are a lot of things. For a start, you could finish that article on 'Children for the over 30's' which should have been in yesterday. Oh and don't think you can touch the mini bar. I'm not paying for your alcohol habit.'

**5:30 pm.** Really want drink. Grr. Fucking spoil sport.

**8 pm.** Couldn't face having dinner on own in front of everyone so ordered room service.

**8:10 pm**. And bottle of vodka.

**9 pm.** Was just going to have early night when knock at door.

'Jones, what a pleasant surprise!'

Was Daniel. Stood there in disbelief and confusion. Why didn't I check the sodding peephole? Last time had seen Daniel was in supermarket and had quickly abandoned shopping.

'Jones, don't look so frightened! I won't bite! Unless of course you want me to…'

'No! Daniel, what are you doing here?'

'I'm meant to be at this sodding book launch but the author's gone and got delayed. But I heard you were in the building, Jones and thought you'd be terribly lonely, all on your own and with no one to play with.'

'I'm not on my own actually. I am part of a top journalistic team.'

'Yes, but we all know you can't stand most of them.'

'I can!' I retorted. 'It's just we have…personality…differences.'

'And the ones who aren't married are all under 25…'

Hmm, he had a point there. Except the ones who were clinically ugly or gay.

'Christ Jones, your room is a bit small. Where's your Jacuzzi?'

What? All I had was shower and a sunken bath.

'I chose not to have one!' I replied hoity-toitedly. 'I'd rather have a sunken bath than a Jacuzzi.'

'Really? Wow, that's incredible. And, it looks like you don't have a private balcony either. Or a-.'

Suddenly, was loud bang outside and in commotion, grabbed Daniel's arm and held on tight for life. (Promise, officer)

'I've missed you Jones.' And then, for no apparent reason, we were snogging on the bed. The vodka kicked in and was giggling like 14 year old school girl and then…well, let's just say, one thing led to another.

**Thursday 17th February**

_22 st 3 (guilt weighs a tonne), cigarettes 7, calories 702._

**9:45 am.** Gaah! Breakfast ends in 15 minutes!

**9:46 am**. Just then Daniel rolled over and out of bed. No! No! No!

**10:30 am**. Shook Daniel and both agreed was one off. Well, I did anyway. Was out of door before he could answer. Will not feel guilty though. Sex is all part of healing process and after what I've been through…it could take a long time.

Nothing left at breakfast so had to wait in plush sitting room until I saw Daniel come down the stairs.

**7 pm**. Have just found dress still in bag all crumpled and creased.

**7:05 pm**. Maybe will iron dress. Yes, that's a good idea.

**7:10 pm.** Where the fuck is the fucking iron? Honestly, am in posh hotel! Would expect them to provide ironing board. Along with private balcony in _every_ room.

**7:20 pm**. Rang reception and found iron was in wardrobe along with ironing board. Humph. How was I meant to find that?

**7:30 pm**. Accidentally burnt hole in dress so have cut off bottom (of dress, although that may be a good idea) to fix it.

**7:40 pm**. Tried on dress to find was wearing ankle swinger with hem unravelling.

**7:50 pm**. To fix 'ankle swinger' problem, chopped off more of dress so now comes below knees. Managed to glue hem to stop it unravelling with glue meant for false eyelashes.

**8:30 pm**. Arrived just in time for dinner. Found was on table with Hiliary from the Mail and strange woman called Iona Harpington-Smith who seemed to know Jude but it turned out, after talking for most of the main course, in fact didn't.

**9:30 pm**. Speeches were so boring that found self counting each individual glass bead hanging from the chandeliers. Then, we were led into another room which had been prepared for ball room style dancing. Felt slightly embarrassed as dress was not in keeping with the 'dragging along floor' style which seemed the most popular. And had no one to dance with.

**9:45 pm**. Was just going to leave when familiar voice said: 'Bridget! How lovely to…are you here alone?'

**10 pm**. Was Mark Darcy, all dressed up. 'Want to dance?' he asked, even though there were only ten couples on the enormous dance floor.

'Yes.' I replied. Mark led me out and we began dancing to music provided by very odd looking orchestra.

'Are you staying here?' he asked.

'Yes, just-' I pointed in the direction of room even though room was upstairs-'Room 372.'

'Oh, right. I'm staying in a hotel in the town. Tell me, what do you think of the book? I mean, did you predict the ending?'

What? How could he ask me that? I hadn't read the book. But I couldn't admit that to Mark, could I? 'Yes, yes I did. I mean, it took me a while but by about half way through, I knew it.'

'Crikey. You're the first person I've spoken to today who's thought that.' He spun me around in time to the music before going 'Bridget, have you actually read the book? It's just that, you've gone bright red and…'

Bugger. 'What are you saying? That I go around pretending to have read books I haven't?' I asked indignantly.

'Bridget, it's ok, I know you and well, it doesn't matter. It was a boring book anyway. I only read it because well, our firm was sent a signed copy and I don't really have much to do in the evenings. I spend most of them'-he looked straight into my eyes-'alone.'

'So do I. Mark, I just wanted to say that-.'

'Can I cut in?' interrupted a VERY familiar voice. Swung round to see was Daniel.

'Piss off.' said Mark.

'Darcy, that's no way to speak to an old friend. Why, are you frightened I might-' he laughed-'steal her away?'

'Daniel,' I said. 'Stop it.' Could see Mark starting to get angry.

'Stop it?' he repeated. 'That's not what you said last night, Bridge. In fact, I clearly remember you asking for more.'

Bastard. Fucking bastard. Was blushing bright red and Mark had loosened his grip on me. Why now?

'Fuck off Cleaver.'

'Ok, I'm going Darcy. Sorry if I made you feel inadequate. But, it's not my fault you can't please in bed.' He turned to me. 'Goodnight Jones.'

After he had walked out the door, the song ended and Mark let go of me, looked me straight in the eye and asked 'Did you?' before walking off when I gave a little nod.

**1 am.** Why? Why? Why?

**1:20 am**. Actually, why am I feeling guilty? I wasn't _cheating_ on Mark. He went off with Rebecca and she is basically Daniel in female form. He is a complete and utter bastard; she is a complete and utter bitch. Yes. Feel much better

**6 am**. Woken up by banging at door. Grr! Is this my wake up call?

**7:30 am**. Was Mark Darcy! 'Reception wouldn't let me through before six.' he announced before he lifted me up and threw me on the bed! Half way through our activities, he paused and asked 'Have you ever done it against a wall?'

'Er, I can't remember.' I said, flushing furiously. Actually I had a few years ago when I was going out with Daniel but thought it best not to mention that. 'We might wake the neighbours, though!' I giggled.

'Yes, but fuck them.' he grinned mischievously, then lifted me up and pinned me against the wall of my crappy Jacuzzi-less bathroom. I wrapped one of my legs around him as he pumped harder. We were wall shagging! Honestly, me, Bridget Jones! I was not a wall virgin! Well, not with Mark anyway. But then it dawned on me that this was an old house with old walls not made for pursuits like this… Was too happy to care. Life is for living, not worrying about trivial matters.

**10:30 am.** When we'd finished, we lay in each other's arms until something horrible happened. Suddenly. Mark cried 'Oh Christ! I should never have done this!' and started getting dressed.

'Done what?' I asked

'This. Bridget, I never meant to hurt you but…'

'But what?'

'It was just seeing you again and then Cleaver and then I…anyway that's not the point.' He was now pulling on his jacket.

'What is it? Tell me!' I begged desperately.

'I've got a plane to catch in four hours!' Mark was saying. He pressed a number on his mobile a said into it 'Hello, it's Mark Darcy here. Listen I've been held up and-.'

'A plane?' I said in disbelief. 'But where are you going?' I looked at him, 'This wasn't…a quick thing before you went on holiday?'

'Ok, thanks again. Bye.' He looked at me. 'Bridget, it's not a holiday. I've been asked to work on a case. For a year.'

I couldn't take it all in. A year? What was I suppose to do in a year? 'Am I meant to wait for you? Is this all this was? Something to remember me by?' Was all fired up now. 'I think you should go now…to er…'

'Columbia.' filled in Mark. 'South Columbia, actually. Goodbye Bridget.' He leaned over to kiss me but I pulled away. 'Right, of course, I'll um…send you a postcard.'

When he'd gone, I sat there crying until the cleaners came.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday 20th February**

_9 st 6 (Have eaten contents of fridge and more), cigarettes 22, alcohol units 15 (completely understandable.)_

**7 pm. My Flat.**

Shazzer and Jude came round straight away when heard of my news.

'Fucking, fucking basted.' Shazzie was growling.

'Yes! Both of them! Miserable gits who deserve to be locked up.' added Jude who was fumbling hysterically with the champagne bottle.

'I mean, he shags you against a wall and then buggers off to some fuckwit country where kidnapping is the norm! What did you say to him, Bridget? I would have kneed him and-,' she turned to Jude-'give me that!'

'Well, I was a bit taken aback.' I began. 'At the time I just shouted at him and let him go and…(noticed steam emerging from Sharon's ears)…but then when I got home, I left a really good answer machine message telling him exactly what I thought of him.'

'Good for you Bridge. There! Got the bastard!' exclaimed Jude excitedly, pouring me a drink.

'Where did you leave the message?' asked Shazzer

'On his answer machine.'

'Which one?'

'Well he only has one!'

'No, at home or on his mobile.'

I looked at my feet sheepishly. 'At home.'

'Why?' bellowed Shaz. 'Bridget, he won't get that until he comes home!' She handed me my phone. 'Leave him another.'

'But…I might wake him up.' I said pathetically.

'Go on.' demanded Sharon firmly.

'Bloody hell, you sound like my old teacher.' said Jude.

'Bridget…'

'I can't. I…don't know what to say if he answers.'

'Fine, I'll do it.' She grabbed the phone of me and stood up so was unable to make feeble grab for it. 'Hello Mark, it's Sharon here, one of Bridget's LOYAL friends. Just wanted let you know that you are a complete wanker for messing Bridget around and then fucking off to a country where women walk around with cocaine in their tits. Luckily, me and Jude are here to pick up the pieces so don't ever call or I'll spread it around that you have a really tiny…willy. Bye!'

'Shazzie…'

'What? Bridget, he needed to be told. He's just trying to exert his masculine status and needs bringing back down to earth.'

'No, no that's fine but…perhaps you should do the same to Daniel as well.'

'I would but it's a bit late seeing as you split up well over a…Bridget? Is there something you're not telling me?'

'She's slept with him again!' exclaimed Jude.

'Well, sort of.'

'How can it be 'sort of?' Either you shagged him or you didn't.'

'Unless it didn't go in.' said Jude.

'Then it wouldn't be shagging, silly. Honestly Bridge, you're a bit of a dark horse.' She started going through my phone. 'Hmm,' said Shazzer just before pressing green, 'Anyone else who needs a talking to?'

'No.' I giggled and took a puff of my silk cut. Love the lovely friends. Never would run off to foreign country and leave self all alone. Unlike a certain person. Or two.

**Wednesday 30th March**

_9 st 2, cigarettes 2, compliments from Richard, 0, times called 'complete and utter imbecile' by Richard, 104._

**2 pm. At Work. Emailing Jude.**

Grr! Bloody Richard Finch! Would quit but have hardly any savings.

'Bridget! Of all the mistakes to make!'

'Well I didn't _know_ he was _for _the war did I?'

'Well why didn't you bloody check?'

'I just _presumed_ he was _against _killing innocent people. Anyway, he could have stopped me and told me.'

'You wouldn't let him get a pissing word in! Bridget, I've had it up to here with you! Late for morning meetings, crap at everything! But your last article was a success so I'll forgive you. Google this for me.'

Huh. Am now Richard's 'Googling' skivy. Bastard.

**8:30 pm. Watching DIY SOS.**

Ooh! Doorbell!

'Bridge, I'm over a week late!' Shazzie was sobbing.

'Late for what?' I asked, handing her a tissue.

'I'm too young to be menopausal! I…don't know…I…'

'Have you done a test?'

'No, I'm too scared! What if it comes up positive? What shall I do then? I'll be tied to Simon forever. The fucking wanker.' Was going to go into kitchen to get Shazzie a drink but decided against it. Alcohol is bad for babies. Did not want to be responsible for poisoning of Shaz's first born.

'Well, perhaps you should. You can use my loo.'

'I'm too scared! Anyway, it's anti feminist to pee on a stick. It's degrading.' She looked at me. 'Oh, I don't bloody care! Bridge, I've got two in my bag. Do one with me!'

'Ok,' I mumbled.

**10 pm.**

Took about a million litres of tap water before bladder was full and could do the deed. Shazzer went first, then me.

'Thank God!' cried Shazzie. She threw the test on the floor, took a swig of vodka before proceeding to dance round the room singing: 'I'm not having a baby! I'm not having a baby!' After a couple of minutes, she stopped and said 'Bridget? What is it? Is it the test?'

'I don't know. Look, is that one line or one and a half?' Could feel heart beating at double speed.

'Let me see. It looks like one and a half to me. But then you can't be half-pregnant, can you?'

'I don't know. I suppose not.'

'Perhaps only half a sperm got there!'

'Don't be ridiculous!' Probably could happen in my spastic body though.

'Look! cried Shazzer. 'It's getting darker!' And sure enough, the half a line was getting darker and darker, slowly becoming a full line. 'Oh my god! You're going to have a baby!'

'Me?' I said stupidly, wiping a tear from my eye. 'Really, a full baby?'

'Yes! Look at the test thingy!' Shazzer was crying too.

'I…don't believe it.' I said reaching for a Silk Cut which Shazzie snatched out of my hand and threw in the corner. 'I'm going to have a baby!'

'Oh bloody hell, Bridget! You're making my mascara run everywhere!'


	4. Babies: One or more, Fathers: 2

**Friday 9th April.**

_Weight, irrelevant, cigarettes 0 (v.g), alcohol 0 (v.g), babies: at least one, fathers: 2._

**9:30 am: On way to work.**

Wonder what time Mothercare opens?

**9:35 am:** Though obviously is bit early to buy clothes for mere zygote. Would, of course, not be indulging in new motherly status.

**6 pm:** Why the fuck is Mothercare shut?

**7:30 pm: Reading 'Pregnancy and You' magazine.**

Hmm, readers' problems do not include 'my baby has two fathers, one of who has buggered off, the other a total fuckwit.' Speaking of whom, have remembered am having drinks with him at 9 though may have to cancel as is wrong to expose zygote to smoky bar.

Although magazine also recommends that expectant mothers find out as much as possible about their family's health history as well as the history of the father's family to rule out any future problems.

And seeing as there are two possible fathers, technically should take double the time.

**11 pm.** Told Daniel could only drink water as was doing research for work. Then listened to him slag off 'the flat chested whore who looks like a notice board with all those fucking piercings,' (Daniel's neighbour). Finally managed to get onto subject of family health when Lord Fuckwit brushed back hair to reveal small cut to forehead.

'How did you get that?'

'Stabbed myself with a metal comb.'

'Oh. When you cut yourself, do you clot easily?'

'What the fuck?'

'How-long-until-the-bur-lood-stops-flowing-out-of-the-wound?'

'I don't know! About a minute or two, I guess.'

'Two minutes. Does anyone in your family have down's?'

'No they do not! Jones, what the fuck is your prob-.'

'And what about Cystic Fibrosis? Are you a carrier?'

'No, no, naturally my family is freak free. Apart from my cousin, of course.' He looked sheepishly at the floor.

'Why? What was wrong with them?' I asked, alarmed.

'I don't think I can tell you. It's something I'm ashamed of. One could say I was in denial.'

'Is it serious? Could it have affected you too?'

'Yes, I suppose. We, after all, share the same blood.'

'Are they ok, now?'

'Well, I suppose you could say, not really. It's a genetic fault, really. He was always treated differently while we were at Marlborough together.'

This was awful. At this rate, baby was to be born with two possible fathers and a big chance of inheriting this faulty gene from Daniel. Felt a bit sick really.

'The worst thing is, is that I could be a carrier.' Daniel stared into the bottom of his glass and sighed deeply. 'But then again Benjamin's children have been unaffected. Then again, whose to say mine won't.'

'Is Benjamin your father's brother's son?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'So how do you know this, er, genetic fault, wasn't due to Benjamin's mother?'

'My uncle also had the same problem. Quite a common thing really. However, though, Ben coped with it much better.'

'Was there some sort of treatment available? What did the doctor say?'

'Nothing, we never went to him about that.'

What? Knew Daniel was infamous for keeping things hidden but surely this was going too far.

'No,' Daniel continued, now twitching his thumbs, 'he went to the hairdressers. Became 'chestnut brown.' Vast improvement from being a 'ginger nob.''

Ginger? Was this the 'faulty gene' he was talking about?

'What the fuck, Daniel! I thought your cousin had had to suffer the pain of inheriting a genetic disease and having to live with it all his life!' Was really furious now.

'Being a ginger nob is a genetic disease! How would you like it if you were called a 'Duracell' everyday during the third form? And when your parents were late to pick you up at the start of the exeat and people said you had obviously been 'left out to rust?' What would you do?'

'I thought you were talking about an incurable disease for Christ's sakes! Ginger hair is only seen as a bit camp because of society!'

'Calm down Jones! I think you should have a drink.'

'I don't want one. I just want to go home. Goodbye, Daniel.' I turned my heel towards the door and began walking.

'Bridget, come back! Look, at least let me drive you home. The car's just outside.'

Hmm, was dark and cold outside. And to be honest, I didn't really have a clue where I was.

'Ok, but only because it's cold. This doesn't mean I have to like you.'

**11:30 pm.** Daniel tried to invite himself up for coffee but told him where to go. Also, would not have time to rid flat of many, double lined, pregnancy tests scattered in numerous places. Should really stop. Have established that self is with child.


	5. Chapter 5

**Tuesday 13th April.**

_Baby outfits purchased from a shop: 6 (much better). Baby outfits purchased online: 11 (poor)._

**10:00 am**: Daniel rang the office to apologise for the other night. 'How about I make it up to you Jones?' Fuck off, you arse hole.

**11 30 am: Phone call from Magda.**

'Tut tut Bridget, I always knew this would happen.' She announced in her sloaney voice.

'What? What would happen?'

''You and your ovaries!'

Oh, she knew.

'It's not just my fault, Magda,' I reminded her, 'It does take two, you know.'

'Yes! So I've heard! Anyway, that's not why I'm calling. I've booked an appointment for you during your lunch hour. You obviously haven't thought this through, otherwise you would have done this yourself! Don't worry; I've explained the situation to her so you won't waste time doing that yourself. She'll just tell you what your options are.'

Couldn't believe I was hearing this. Especially from Magda, mother of 3, one of whom was, as Magda herself said, 'an unexpected surprise.' 'Magda, I'm keeping the baby. We'll cope; we'll have each other. It doesn't need a dad who buggers off to some cocaine country or a dad who buggers off as soon as he hears the word 'commitment.'' Was getting quite passionate, actually. Maybe should quit job and become speech writer for Tony Blair or Gordon Brown or something.

'Bridget, you willy! I was simply saying I have booked you an appointment with my doctor. Obviously not some clinic! I don't know where you get these silly ideas from. Honestly, what are you like?'

Had to hang up and rush to toilet. Baby clearly didn't like the bran flakes I had this morning.

**1:30 pm: Doctor's surgery.**

Doctor Johnson glanced at the double A4 sided sheet of dates, possible times, date of last period etc. Then she tutted, typed something on her computer before swivelling round to look at me.

'I thought women these days thought about the consequences of sex _before_ they bedded a man. Anyway, I suppose you're living with it.' She took off her glasses and looked at my stomach. 'Well, at least the baby is.'

'Can't you work out who the father is?' I asked through gritted teeth. Cow.

'No, four days apart is not enough.' Couldn't admit real time otherwise she'd definitely think of me as a whore. 'Though as from this week, you're eight weeks so I'll book you in for a scan for next month.'

'A scan?'

'Your three month one? Vital you have it to check everything's alright. It's all explained in the leaflet. And, Miss Jones, another thing?'

'Yes?'

'I think it would be a good idea if you considered having a DNA test. Just to put your mind at rest. It's all very safe now. No needles or anything. My friend had one when her eldest was born so I know it's safe. Plus the results can take less than two weeks to come back.' She looked me deeply in the eye. 'Do you have a preferred father?'

'No! My biological dad has always been my favourite!'

'I mean the baby's.'

'Oh, I see. Well, I suppose there is one. But he doesn't know and I'm not going to bring his hopes up.'

'So don't bring yours up either. Just bear in mind that life doesn't always go to plan.' She tapped a pile of papers on the desk and scribbled a post-it note. 'So I'll get Jane to ring you with details of your scan. Make sure you go. As any mother will tell you, your child always comes first.'

Of course I knew that. Whenever mind wondered from the foetus living inside me, foetus would kick stomach so would be forced to drop everything and make a mad dash for toilets.


	6. Will lean over and yank his tooth out'

**Thursday 15th April.**

**7 pm: **Have just finished speaking to Caroline from the DNA place.

'Bastards!' she coughed. 'Utter bastards! Do either of them know?'

'Well, not really. I don't really want to tell them until I'm completely certain. That's where I thought you could help me. I have my dates but the doctor said they were-.'

'Too close together. Yes, I've heard. Now, how many possibilities are there?'

'Two.'

'And are the fathers close? Could be awkward if they are. You know I had one woman who had been playing off two identical twins! Her husband immediately divorced her and tried to OD on sleeping pills. Terribly tragedy. Last I heard he was living in a shed on a river in Scotland or something.'

'That's awful,' I said imaging Daniel and Mark both in suits fishing outside a shed. 'No, they're not particularly close.'

'Well, here we are _very_ discreet. None of the possible fathers need to know – we do not require their permissions, of course. All they are, are mere sperm providers. You know, in the future we may not even need them for that!'

'Do many women tell the father even when he had no idea he might be one?'

'Yes, well most women feel the need to have emotional as well as financial support. Then again, when say the 'should-be-father' is not the actual father, then many women keep it quiet. Men have a tendency to…'she lowered her voice as if she was disclosing a highly confidential secret, '…over-react.'

Loved the way Caroline was putting this, as if this was a common dilemma nearly all women go through. Total opposite to Dr Johnson, who had mentally labelled me as a whore as soon as she heard about as Caroline put it 'my little problem.'

'Of course,' Caroline continued, 'we will need something to extract the DNA from. Saliva is best. Quite simple really, all you need to do is take a clean cotton wool bud and rub it around inside the mouth on the cheek.'

'Um, I think that would prove a bit difficult.' I said, imagining me pinning down Daniel and extracting cheek cells from his mouth. 'Any other ways?'

'Next best is blood. Pain is the only way they'll learn to control themselves. I'm joking of course! Then hair.'

Ooh. That should be easier. Still had an old comb of Mark's which had forgotten to give back.

'Obviously the hair must still have the follicle attached. Really needs to be yanked from the head.' She flashed me a cheeky smile. 'That's what makes it so fun!'

'Any other options?' This was hopeless.

'Teeth usually work.'

'Teeth?' I gulped. 'How am I going to get those?'

'I mean tooth. Sorry, love.'

'That doesn't make it easier!'

'Well whatever you decide, just make sure you put both samples in separate bags. Then send them to me. I've given you my card.'

'Do I have to get DNA from both of them?' I asked, panicked.

'Are you sure there are only two possibilities. Because I won't judge you if there are!' she chirped.

'Yes! I'm not a slapper. I'd been practically celibate before all this happened!'

'I completely understand. It's just, well this is a really funny story! Two years ago this sweet girl, Katie I think her name was, found out she was pregnant and like you, was together with one of the possible fathers.'

'I'm not together with either of them.'

'Oh sorry dear! I just presumed – well anyway, Katie had been seeing another bloke from work so this baby hadn't come along at the best of times. So she came to me and I explained her options and, really she was an amazing girl, the next day, she came back armed with about several cheek swabs from her boyfriend. Said she had told him stimulating the inside of a cheek would improve their sex life! Silly prick bought it of course.'

'What happened then?' I asked.

'Test came back negative. So she dumped her boyfriend and moved in with her office totty. Then six months later she gave birth. Told him the baby was premature but at 8lbs something no one brought that. He couldn't believe he was the father and demanded a DNA test. He came along personally and I myself took a swab from his mouth.'

'Did she stay with him even though he had acted like an arrogant bastard?'

'No, they split up. He wasn't the father either!'

Head was suddenly filled with ideas. No, that was stupid. Jude and Shazzer would have told me if I had left a club with someone. 'Did she know who the father was?'

'Not a clue. But she did meet and marry someone else so I suppose everything worked out for the best.'

'Well there are only two possible fathers of this baby,' I said, rubbing my tummy.

'Ok then, we'll only need one sample then. Just seal it in one of those sandwich bags and pop it in the post to me. The results should be given in two to three weeks. And, remember love?'

'What?'

'Whatever happens, you'll still be this baby's mother. I think do a good job.'

Hmm, Daniel said he owed me dinner. Maybe will pretend he has something stuck in his tooth, then lean over to remove food, accidentally yanking his tooth out. There! Easy!


End file.
